In science,
matter is analysed in light,
by those shadows
cast between spectra.
[ in art as well ]
But when the colours
of noise, or a life,
are manifold,
they are broken by lines
of black uncertainty,
a balance between
what is known
and everything else:
of arbitrary,
of nothing,
of all and more.
They blend to cacophony,
splay us as negatives
yet to develop.
A litany of meaningless
meaning ensues,
as each is revealed
in the absent mirror
or the empty one
behind us.
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